


Masonry and Woodworking

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: Blackwall is hopelessly in love with Gemma Cadash and wants to tell her. Unfortunately, he overhears a conversation he isn't meant to and misunderstands it entirely.





	Masonry and Woodworking

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this, I hadn't played or watched the full romance with Blackwall, so parts of it are probably off. I stand by it, though. I think it's cute.

The bath was almost a little too hot, turning Gemma’s skin as pink as a Nug’s ass, but she didn’t mind. The elfroot leaves she put in the water were soothing her aches and pains. At first she had been a little peeved the Inquisition couldn’t find a Dwarf-sized tub (although, given the circumstances of an entire city burning to the ground, she sure as shit didn’t bring it up,) but the extra room had quickly grown on her. It was like a little pool, and she loved it. She and her traveling companions had returned earlier that day from Storm Coast, and the coldness from the rain had yet to leave her bones. 

She reached for her tea, took a long sip, and sighed, wiggling her toes. The setting sun was shining in through the high windows of her quarters. The light warmed her eyelids, until suddenly darkness overwhelmed her. She frowned and opened her eyes and let out a small squeak.

“Dammit, Cole, we’ve talked about this. You have to knock.”

She could see his eyes flicking to her face under his hat. “I need help.”

Leaning up so she was sitting, she gestured towards the chair in the corner. He dragged it over to her side and sat down, his elbows on his knees. “I…wish to know more about the nature of love. What it’s like.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Surely, Cole, you of all people should know best the answer to that question.” He shook his head and looked straight at her, unnerving her a little. She cleared her throat before she nodded. “Alright. Well. It’s different for everybody, I suppose. There are no two instances of love that are exactly the same. They’re as unique and individual as the people who feel it.”

“And for you?”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “Really, Cole?” Upon his insistent stare she nodded and continued. “For me, it’s never been the same twice. If I’ve ever even really been in love. There’s no way to know for sure, all you can know is whether or not what you’re feeling is pleasant, if it’s worth it or if it’s just a passing fancy. Sometimes, it can be difficult to know.”

Blackwall was ascending the stairs leading to the Inquisitor’s chambers, a small wooden flower in his hand, its petals lined with teal and filled with fuschia, like her eyes. He paused halfway up the marble steps, hearing her voice. Normally, Blackwall would never dream of eavesdropping on her. He respected her far too much to invade her privacy like that, but he couldn’t help the intrigue that filled him upon hearing her words. 

“I mean, for me, at first it was an attraction.”

“Sexual.” Nobody was sure whether Cole’s words were a question, statement, or an accusation.

Gemma sighed and sipped her tea. “Yes, dear, sexual. Though, that’s not how it starts for everyone, not always. And then, it’s gradual from there. Friendship. Flirting. And then. Well.” She lingered, implication in her voice.

Cole just stared at her.

“I’m not about to explain sex to you, Cole, I’m sure you can divine its mysteries for yourself.”

Blackwall smirked to himself, leaning against the wall.

“But, honestly, when I think of love it’s like building a wall.”

“A wall?”

Blackwall could hear the soft smile in her voice. “Yeah. You start out excited, imagining what it could be, and then gradually you get the foundation laid, the walls strengthened, some cracks come through, you fix it. And then, finally, when you know it’s true, it’s like the last brick has been fallen into place and everything is perfect, even with all the caked over cracks, with the mismatched bricks. It’s still perfect. And suddenly the world gets a little brighter.” She was smiling wider now, and he could hear the clinking of a teacup being set down. “Although I realize the irony of saying the world is brighter when you just built a wall. But it’s all I got right now. And, like I said, no walls are built exactly the same, some don’t get completed, some aren’t built well enough to last forever.”

There was a sloshing of water followed by the soft padding of her feet across the room, then a shuffling of drawers. “And, your wall, do you feel it will be completed to satisfaction?”

Blackwall perked up, tempted to look over the floor to see her reaction. Was this it? Should he even be here for this, to hear that she loved him before she told him? He decided that no, he shouldn’t, and he turned to leave, but the next words out of her mouth filled his veins with ice. 

“I think that Iron Bull and I have an ok foundation, yeah.”

Blackwall’s ears filled with the pounding of his own heart and his breath hitched. It took him a few moments to make his feet move, to make himself slip silently out of the room. He paused before the doorway to the main hall and looked down at the flower in his hand. He closed his eyes and gripped it tightly before he let out a soft sigh. _I should’ve known._ He set the carving onto the railing just next to the door and left, each step harder than the last.

A few weeks passed, and it hadn’t escaped Gemma’s attention that something was up Blackwall’s ass. He wasn’t being rude or anything like that, but he was far more distant than usual. He had stopped meeting her eyes, and the smiles he gave her felt forced. And though she tried not to admit it, it tore her apart. In truth, she cared a great deal for the warden. He was not only a trusted advisor, an ally, but also a dear friend. It didn’t help that the tension between him and Iron Bull had also increased, and not only that but Gemma and Iron Bull’s relationship had begun to turn strained.

They had had a difficult few days. They’d traversed into the Deep Roads to aid the Legion of the Dead, and found themselves horribly under prepared. Honestly, it was a miracle that the three of them had survived what with their lack of potions and the absolutely ridiculous onslaught of enemies in the lower levels. But, survive they did, and now they were sat in a tavern drowning out their aches and pains.

Dorian had gone off “galavanting” as he put it ages ago, and Gemma and Iron Bull had retired to their shared room for the evening, leaving Blackwall to sit and fester on his own. At some point, her Holiness had wandered back down for another drink and by the time she found him, Blackwall was absolutely smashed. His face was flushed and splotched, and somehow even though he was sat against the wall, he was swaying.

Gemma raised an eyebrow and folded her arms as she approached the Warden. “You don’t look so good, Blackwall.”

“And you look…” he wanted to spit something bitter out, to tell her everything, to let her know how absolutely broken he was and how hard it was to see her with him. That goddamn Qunari. But, upon looking at her, at her softened expression, her slightly ruffled dark red hair set about her face with the fire behind her, a night dress hanging off one tattooed shoulder and reaching almost to the floor, he couldn’t bring himself to bear any malice against her. If he were to be truthful, he could pretend to be happy for her, because he needed to be happy for her, to want her to be happy. That’s the noble thing innit? It took him a long moment and a deep stare into his ale to finish his sentence. “Damn beautiful this evening, Your Worship.”

Gemma wasn’t sure what to make of that, of that shift in tone. She walked over and sat herself in the chair across from him, her feet dangling off the ground. She put her hands on the table and took a deep breath. “Blackwall, what’s been troubling you? Truthfully. Don’t give me any of that ‘old sparring injury acting up’ shit. I can see that something is troubling you. Let me help.”

Her voice was soft, floating over him like dew in the morning light. It helped that the tavern had long ago died down, no sounds left but the crackling of the fire and the occasional snore from the poor bastards passed out in their porridge. He refused to meet her eyes, to let her see the pain in them. It would be cruel and unethical to let her see how deeply in love with her he was, especially when she seemed so happy with the Qunari. He cleared his throat and took a swig from the now-stale ale and leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I’ve just had word from Cumberland. My sister has passed.” It was a lie, one he was sure he’d kick himself for in the morning. After all, this woman was the most well connected person in the entirety of Thedas. It wouldn’t take much for her to find Liddy alive and well with her family in their childhood home. Hopefully, anyways. Come to think of it, it had been a while since he heard from or of her.

“Oh, Blackwall, I’m so sorry.” She reached across the table and grasped his hand with both of hers. He looked down at them and marveled at how remarkably soft they were given the circumstances. The mark upon her hand seemed to swirl under the skin like a softly glowing green snake. He cleared his throat and nodded in thanks, and she released him. “Is this what the past few weeks have been about?” she asked.

Past few weeks? Shit. She was more observant than he’d given her credit for. He recovered quickly and nodded again. “The crow came the day we got back from that mess in the Fallow Mire.” Another lie. He couldn’t believe his own gall. He should just tell her. It would be so much easier if she just knew. But no.

He finished off his ale and set the mug down a little too hard. She seemed to notice but said nothing of it, instead drawing her hands into her lap. “If you’d rather, you are more than welcome to go home, take some time to grieve.”

He shook his head and flashed her a fake smile, but even he wasn’t convinced by it. “Nah. I’ll be fine, Your Worship. I’d better retire, though, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Unfortunately for him, Blackwall hadn’t properly anticipated the strength of this tavern’s ale, and he took a few stumbling steps before he felt an arm about his waist and a hand guiding his to a shoulder. He looked down at his Inquisitor and was about to protest her helping him, but she gave him that look, the look that sent shivers of both excitement and fear down his spine. They walked to his quarters in silence, and she released him at the door. He stepped inside and paused with the door half shut. He looked her up and down before meeting her multi-colored gaze. “You really are beautiful, Gemma. Iron Bull is a lucky man.” His voice was soft, and both were surprised at his use of her name. Neither could recall a time he had done so before, and before she could remark on it he had shut the door.

Gemma stood there in the hall for a moment longer, partly listening to make sure he didn’t fall and hurt himself, but also to absorb what just happened. A small pit formed in her stomach as she ran over their conversation, and before she could bring herself to cry, Dorian burst through the doors downstairs, startling more than a few drunks. He was chatting loudly, a rather pretty man on his arm, and she sighed softly, shaking her head. She retired to her quarters and settled in bed beside her mercenary, not touching him. She watched the fire die out, and then spent a few hours more listening to the beginnings of dawn start stirring. Before she let herself fall asleep, she reached under her pillow and gripped the carved flower, the one the same colors as her eyes, and held it to her heart.

Another few weeks passed before another incident occurred. Unfortunately for her, the incident in question was a breakup. She wasn’t sure what exactly happened between her and Iron Bull to end things as violently as they did, but it was over. For sure, this time.

The entire castle had heard them yelling at one another, had heard the throwing of objects. The Inquisitor and the Qunari were known to break a few things every now and then, but never due to a fight. In fact, nobody in memory could recall a time when the two even so much as squabbled. Yet here they were.

After what seemed like an eternity, IB burst out of the door to her quarters and everyone who had gathered to eavesdrop had scrambled. After a few minutes of shock, Solas and Dorian set off on a quest to find Cole, to ask him to “help” the Inquisitor. Meanwhile, Varric, ever the observant one, set off for the stables.

The Grey Warden was sat by the fire, legs propped up, a relatively new hunk of wood and a knife in his hands. He was silent as he whittled away at it, but sat up upon hearing the Dwarf’s footfalls. He turned to look at him and smiled. “Varric, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Varric walked over to stand in front of Blackwall, his expression grim. “She needs you.”

Blackwall quirked an eyebrow and set his hands down. “Who?”

Varric rolled his eyes and crossed his hands across his chest. He nodded towards the castle. “Her. She and the big one had a fight, a bad one. You gotta go to her.”

Blackwall stared at him for a moment before turning back to his carving. “Not my place.”

“The hell it isn’t.” He looked back at the Dwarf who had dropped his hands in anger. He was pointing now, towards her tower. “That woman up there adores you. Out of all of us, you are her closest friend. Nevermind the fact you’re both so damn in love with each other you can’t even see it, but you need to be there for her. So put your warrior ego aside, march your ass up those steps, and take care of the woman you love.” Varric’s words had turned towards anger and frustration at Blackwall’s unwillingness to see the truth, but even he knew he meant no real malice towards the other man.

Blackwall stopped for a moment, staring down at his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“What? That you love her? Oh, no, you’ve done a bang up job hiding it, really buddy none of us had any idea.” Sarcasm filled Varric’s words to the brim. “I mean, after all, pals go ‘round carving and painting flowers for their gal pal friends all the time, and then those gal pals carry it with them everywhere they go. Obviously, there’s no love there, just platonic adoration. I mean, are you serious right now? Of course it’s obvious. We’ve all known for months. Hell, we have a pool going on how long it’ll take you to woo her. I’ve got my money on two weeks from now, not that it matters, but I called it the moment the two of you met and you stopped that arrow. I did, ask Cassandra, all I would talk about for weeks.”

Blackwall looked back at him forlornly before he nodded and stood. “As usual, you’re right. At least about me. Alright. I’ll go talk to her.” He stood and as he passed, he patted the Dwarf on the shoulder and gave him a slight smile.

Varric watched him go before shaking his head. “What an idiot.”

As he climbed the steps to her chambers, he was reminded of the last time he did this, and he prayed against all hope it had a better ending this time.

He paused at the beginning of the marble stairs and cleared his throat, knocking on the wood of the archway before he started up. He poked his head up over the floor and called out, “Your Worship?”

At first he couldn’t see beyond the mess. Her clothes had been strewn, a chair smashed to bits in the corner, covers of her bed thrown out onto the balcony. It looked like a war zone, save a lack of blood. He finished the climb to the top of the stairs and he called out again, “Inquisitor?”

There was a stirring on the other side of the bed, and her hand waved over the top. “Go away.”

“Fat chance.” He crossed over to her and his heart ached. She was sat on the floor, knees about her chest, her hair a mess, makeup mussed from crying, almost obscuring her tattooing. He sighed softly and went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

She wiped her eyes furiously before she looked away. “We’ve broken up.”

“What, you and Iron Bull?” She nodded in response. “What happened? I thought your wall was coming along swimmingly.” He wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder, pull her hair back from her face, anything, but he daren’t. Instead, he leaned with his arms on his legs so he was closer to her level.

It was a long moment before she responded, but when she did she opened her palm. In it lay the flower that he had made her, a petal missing, the core cracked. She wiped her eyes again and sniffled. “I knew you must’ve heard all that. When I found this, I wondered why you’d leave it on the stair instead of bringing it to me and then I realized you must’ve heard me talking to Cole. I’m sorry.” He waved his hand dismissively but let her continue. “Bull and I got into a disagreement about the Qun and he threw the first thing he could grab. And after you worked so hard on it.”

Blackwall blinked at her before taking it from her palm, skin brushing hers. “Oh, it’s alright. I can fix it no worries.”

She shook her head and climbed to her feet. “That’s not the point.” She crossed over to her balcony and leaned against the railing, staring out over the mountains.

He set the flower down and followed. “What is the point then?”

She was silent for a while, the cold mountain air whipping her hair and tunic about. Blackwall came and leaned beside her, their arms almost touching. Her voice was quiet when she finally did speak. “I don’t love him.” Relief flooded every inch of his body, but he didn’t let it show. He let her continue. “I mean. It was fun, for a while, but it’s not… _He’s_ not what I want. And then he broke the flower and I realized that what I want has been beside me this whole time.”

She turned to look at him, the afternoon sun shining in her eyes like mage fire. He turned towards her, still leaning, unsure if he was misinterpreting her or not. He didn’t have to wonder long before her fists found his shirt and she pulled her small frame into him, stretched up on the very tips of her toes to kiss him.

_Maker above, is this really happening?_

He was quick to reciprocate, his arms wrapping around her. He lifted her up and set her on the railing, holding her tightly so she couldn’t fall. After a few moments, she broke the kiss, her cheeks flushed bright pink beneath her green markings. They were both a little out of breath, but she put a hand against his chest and another on his cheek. Her eyes flicked between his and she smiled, a smile full of love. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it, to see you.”

He brushed his thumb against her cheek and stroked her hair back from her face. “For this moment, I’d have waited til this planet turned to dust. And probably even beyond then.”

She grinned and pulled his face back down to hers, her arms around his neck.

Dorian and Solas were clambering up the stairs, Cole in tow, before they stopped dead in their tracks. Dorian put a hand to his chest and looked at Solas with an open mouthed grin and pointed at them. _“Do you **see** this?”_ he whispered.

Solas rolled his eyes but turned towards Cole and was surprised to find him smiling.

“The wrong wall.”

“What?” Dorian turned to look at the spirit.

“She was too busy trying to build her wall with Iron Bull over quicksand to notice the wall building itself upon stone behind her.”

“Have you any idea about what he’s talking?”

Dorian shrugged. “Not the faintest.”

The mages turned back to their Inquisitor, Dorian practically on the verge of tears.

Blackwall leaned back and let Gemma hop down from the railing. He looked down at her before he kneeled and took her hands in his. “I made a vow to fight by your side until all this was over. But, if you’d have me, I’d like to fight by your side until my dying breath.”

She smiled at him and nodded. “I’d like nothing more.”

Dorian couldn’t contain himself an let out a deep, “Awww,” causing both the Inquisitor and Warden to jump.

Gemma’s face grew a bright red and she glowered at them. “Doesn’t anybody in this damn keep _knock_ anymore?!”

It took Blackwall months to gain the courage to propose. Between the fighting, the plotting, the recuperating, it just never seemed a good time. Not to mention that Gemma Cadash is the single most intimidating and powerful woman in all of Thedas. But when he did, it was as they both sat atop a boulder, overlooking a sun setting on a lake. They’d had a small picnic away from Dorian and Cole who were both in deep conversation back at camp.

“Your Worship…”

Gemma turned to look at him, an eyebrow quirked. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

He smiled slightly but nodded. “Gemma. I’ve something to give you.”

“Oh?” Turning to face him completely, she smiled. “I’m afraid I’ve not gotten you anything.”

“You can give me an answer.” He fished around in his pockets before finding it—a small wooden box. He placed it in her palm and looked away bashfully. “I. Er. Well.” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Your Worship, Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste.” His tone softened and he met her gaze again, opening the box. “Gemma. This life I lead…it’s not luxurious, not rich in anything but friendship. It’s certainly not peaceful. Hell I’ll be lucky to be alive this time next week. But, I wanted to ask if you would consider doing me the honor of marrying me.”

Gemma’s eyes went wide and she looked down before tears filled her eyes. Inside the box was a flower, smaller and more detailed than the last and breathtakingly beautiful. She looked back at him before she grinned and nodded. “Of course I would.”

He let out a breathy laugh and beamed, pulling her in to kiss her.

Back at camp, Cole stopped mid-sentence and smiled slightly. “The final brick,” he whispered.

Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

Cole shook his head and smiled knowingly.


End file.
